


if this must happen, outlast this

by Leamas



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: Gen, Richard's reign of terror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leamas/pseuds/Leamas
Summary: James would do anything to make this stop.





	if this must happen, outlast this

James hangs back to have a word with Gwendolyn as the others leave, so by the time he’s slipping off-stage and to the dressing room most of the others have left, although Oliver is still standing around.

“Don’t wait for me,” James tells him with a wave. “Go catch up with the others.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver asks. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Yeah.” James lays a hand across Oliver’s forearm and smiles at him, and then he doesn’t need to say anything more. Oliver returns the smile, then waves to James as he leaves. Once he’s gone James slips into the changing room, where he can be alone as he undresses.

He hates the sight of his wrists, and all the bruises in the shape of Richard’s hand, but as he pulls his shirt off he stands transfixed. They’re layers of palm-prints, layers of paralysing pain that Richard has administered over the course of several rehearsals to numb his hand and trap. He can’t pull away without giving the chance for Richard to hurt him more, or replaying the humiliation of coming up from the lake and gasping for air while Richard watched and hated him. Richard is stronger than James and Richard is crueller; he knows what he does to James and is only waiting for James to acknowledge Richard’s power.

But James is patient, where Richard is not. If he can just outlast this show, then he’ll outlast Richard’s terror.

James turns to look over his shoulder to look at his back in the mirror. There are bruises there, too, and marks at the back of his neck where Richard’s nails have dug through his skin. Too much of Richard is on him. There will be more tomorrow and all James can do is brace himself now.

When the door to the dressing room opens, in order, James is afraid that it will be Oliver coming back for him, or Gwendolyn; he’s afraid of Meredith’s eyes raking over his body and seeing her boyfriend’s hands, or of Filippa knowing without having to ask a single question, in that unique way that she understands everything. It doesn’t cross his mind that Richard might appear, but in the mirror James sees Richard’s dark silhouette in the doorway.

Richard tightens his lips until it resembles a smile.

“What happened to you?”

“Rehearsals,” James said. “It’s been pretty intense.”

“Let me see.” Richard holds out the same palm that wrapped itself around James’ wrists more times than he can count, although his skin remembers. James waves him away and reaches for his shirt.

“Don’t worry about it,” James says quickly.

This conversation is a hoax, but it’s no different than what they do on stage. Richard is his audience; he is Richard’s. And Richard has yet to do anything to James that isn’t deniable, though. What he does to James on stage is exactly what he told Richard; what happened at the lake was just a drunken disagreement that spiralled out of control. And Richard is closing the door behind him and James feels his stomach sink. He tries not to look away from what he’s doing.

“It looks painful.”

“Really? It doesn’t hurt that much.”

“But it looks bad.”

“Maybe I’ve just not been getting enough vitamins. We’ve all been really busy lately. Showtime’s next week.”

Richard takes James’ wrist and pulls him closer. He’s tall enough that he’s backed James into a corner easily, and strong enough that James wouldn’t be able to escape even if he wasn’t frozen. There is no sound in the room except for the hum of the lights above the mirror. James keeps his breath steady and his eyes on Richard; he looks bored.

“Did I do this to you?” he asks, like he doesn’t know.

“Maybe,” James says. “I’m sure you didn’t mean it.”

Richard fits his hand over one of the bruises perfectly.

“You should have told me that I was hurting you,” Richard says softly.

“It really doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Richard insists.

James tries to take an arm back, but Richard squeezes. He takes a step forward, crowding James against the wall. “Okay, whatever.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that I’ve been hurting you. Say— _I should have told you a long time ago._ ”

They stare at each other. James remembers that he’s shirtless, and he remembers how Richard’s hands felt on the back of his neck, holding him down, and how much smaller he is than Richard. There is nothing that he can do if Richard decides to hurt him. His skin feels too tight, and too warm. He isn’t acting anymore—only pretending that this is a normal encounter, even though everything is wrong. He watches Richard like he doesn’t want to shy away and escape into the hallway like he’s coming up for air. He’d do anything to get away from this.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” James says quietly.

“What should you have told me?”

“That you were hurting me,” James says. “If this wasn’t just what happens on stage, sometimes.”

Richard looks down at James’ arms again, then touches James’ shoulder. This time James does turn away, and catches his own eye in the mirror.

“Finish getting changed,” he orders, finally stepping away from James and starting for the door. “We’re meeting for drinks, and then Meredith and Filippa are going to try their hands at cooking.”

“Great,” James says. “I’ll see you there.”

Richard waves, and James waits for him to close the door behind him and for his footsteps to recede before he crouches on the floor and buries his head in his hands.


End file.
